Watching You From Afar
by iwasa teenage dork
Summary: Something drove Michael and Mia apart while they were in college. Years have passed since then, and what have these characters gotten themselves into? Somewhat sappy. But I like it like that.
1. prologue

[**A/N:** New story, folks. I'm still periodically working on _Telling it Like it Is_, and it's something I'll return to from time to time when I have my typical writer's block. This is better than that story, though, so my thanks goes out to everyone who reads this, even if you don't review. I do appreciate feedback of all kinds, though.

I realize that this is really short. It's the prologue, though, so what do you expect? I'm planning on uploading the first real chapter in a couple of hours.]

---------------------------------------------------

He enveloped her in a hug. A loving, yet bitter, embrace. She had never experienced something with so many complications, never had felt so many mixed meanings behind a single action. She never wanted to let go; she never wanted it to end. But he pulled away first.

"Mia," he stumbled for words. "I need to…"

She placed her index finger on his lips, a feeble attempt to silence him. "Please don't. Isn't there another way to do things? It can't be too late. We can make things better."

He shook his head, his eyes almost glistening. '_He'd never shed a tear in my presence,'_ she thought, and her heart broke. _'He's much too good for that. Much too strong. His foundation would never crumble. Never, ever.'_ He was her life.

Mia choked on her own tears, only the slightest whispers escaping from her lips. "But I don't know when I'll see you again…"

"Neither do I, Mia. Neither do I." He paused to pull something out of his coat pocket and sighed. "This is for you."

Mia reached out, her hands trembling, and wrapped her fingers around a slender and silvery chain that he hesitantly dangled before her face. A necklace.

"It was the best I could do. I'm sorry."

"No, no! It's beautiful, it's absolutely wonderful." And indeed, it was. It was just a chain, but if one looked closely enough, small and intricate flowers engraved in the silver would be easily visible. It sparkled even in the blackest night. It was dazzling when all was dreary. Hope.

"Mia," he struggled. "Mia. Remember me by this. Even when I'm gone. Even when everything changes. This is important; you need to remember. It's all we'll ever have left."

She nodded, the tears streaming down her face now. He took a step back, and gazed at her one last time, as if he were attempting to take a mental photograph.

He cupped her face in his hands. "Mia, you need to stay strong these next couple of days, these next months, these next years. This isn't what I expected to happen, so there's only one thing left that'll keep us going. Promise me you'll stay strong. Promise me you'll find happiness. I don't care what it takes; just promise me that you'll stay cheerful. This is what I want for you."

He took the necklace from Mia's hands and clasped it around her neck. Bending down, he gave her one last kiss, and began to head off in the opposite direction. He turned away as quickly as he could, but she didn't miss the lone tear finding its way down his cheek.

"I promise," Mia whispered, her hands slowly fingering the slender chain around her neck.

---------------------------------------------------

[**A/N** (at the end of the chapter, hah)**:** All right. I have a lot of hopes for the success of this story, so I hope you guys enjoy reading this, and send me the occasional review! This first tidbit was what I consider to be "the prologue", so keep that in mind. Most of the time, I'll be able to weave in the context of this story through _italicized flashbacks_ and other internal thoughts, but there's some things I'll come up and clarify right now.  
- All characters are out of college and have jobs  
- I only own the characters that you do not recognize from the books  
- Will this turn out to be Mia-Michael? I don't know quite yet…  
I'm going to state this before I move on: the a/n's in this story are incredibly important; they'll clarify some things that you may be unsure about. So read them – I know I'll have to explain some things from time to time! Another thing: My chapters will be somewhat shorter than most chapters of other fanfics I've read. My apologies in advance, but I'm a sucker for suspense, and I'd hate to lengthen the chapters and ruin the endings. You know?]


	2. busy morning

[**A/N:** You guys are going to realize that it's going to take me the next couple chapters to get me clicking into place. There's a lot of things I need to introduce and explain, so bear with me, okay?  
And I realized that this isn't showing up on the main Princess Diaries FanFic screen (the ones rated G - PG13… even though this is only PG13. Ah well, hopefully it'll get there eventually… thanks to my first reviewers, you rock my socks off!]

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

"Mia! Rise and shine, you dork!"

The shrill, but friendly, cry rang through the apartment, and I groggily rubbed my eyes open. A monster-like yawn escaped from my lips, and I stretched my arms outwards, groaning. "Ugh," I muttered. Friday mornings were simply just rough.

"Holy crap, Renee, I don't know what I'd do without you," I called out loud.

I could hear her bustling around in the kitchen, and it was evident she had been up for quite a while already. "Don't worry about it, Mia. I'd hate for you to be late to work because of your rotten sleeping habits."

I smiled and jumped out of the bed, stumbling into my bathroom. With a quick flick of my wrist, I switched on the light and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Shoulder length brown hair framed my frazzled, sleep-deprived face. A confused face. A face that hid so many emotions. I shook my head slowly and turned on the tap, letting the cool water drip through my fingers.

It usually took me a long period of time to get ready in the morning. A while ago, I had not really cared, as everyone I knew smiled in my presence, loved me for who I really was. But things had changed since then, and those people had left my life. I was alone in this detached world, I felt, for what felt like an eternity.

But things had once again, improved.

Realizing that I was behind schedule more than usual, I scampered out into the kitchen, all the while trying to tie my hair up with a scrunchie. My hair was never going to cooperate, I realized, and I, defeated, let it down.

My roommate was rummaging through her briefcase on the floor. "You like waffles, I know. Chow those things down, because we have to be leaving in less than ten minutes, now."

"Man, I owe you, girl."

"Sure you do." Renee winked.

---------------------------------------------------

Things had been none other than a whirlwind of events for me during the last several years. I had graduated from The University of Pennsylvania roughly two years ago, majoring in politics, and now, I had an internship at the state legislative building back where I had spent my childhood: the grand old state of New York. The original plans had been for me to return to Genovia after college, and begin the intensive training need to rule the land, but I had begged for a chance to build my own life, and to see how well I could survive in the real world. It would be beneficial for me in the end, I argued. Chances like these never came by every day, I said. I would keep up with Genovian current events, I promised.

And I had won.

Up until a period of five years was over, I was permitted by my father and Grandmère to stay in New York, building my own career until the time would come for me to return to my royal duties. I loved my job, and I loved New York. I loved life. I loved who I was. Hardly anyone made a fuss about the fact that I was a princess of an entire nation anymore. Not many people knew, to begin with. I was just Mia. Just Mia Thermopolis, to most people.

And then there was Renee Stanforth, who was similar to me in more ways than one. She was an American-born Genovian, whose father held a high position back in Europe, and my own father had arranged for us to become roommates and coworkers during my six year period in New York. _'You can watch out for one another, keep each other company,_' he had said. And I had to admit; it worked extremely well, and although we were opposites in personality aspects, things clicked together instantly. Renee always woke me up in the mornings, I took her out to enjoy the social scene. She made breakfast, I provided the late night snacks. She did the math, I did the English and French. And it always helped that our similar background and heritage provided us with an even deeper connection.

She soon became my best friend. I had had one best friend in the past, Lilly Moscovitz, but she had drifted off to fulfill her duties in life. The last that I heard from her, she was off in a third-world country, bleeding sweat and effort to rally for the natives' human rights. Lilly was a work of art, yes, and she had went off and answered her calling. In her new life, saving the lives of others was her first priority. Then came her own life. And when she could salvage bits and pieces of time, she kept in touch with her friends. The occasional phone call or postcard came my way, but that was about it. As for her brother--

I took a sharp intake of breath.

I had a new life, now. Mia Thermopolis, freak princess, was no more. I had a future in front of me, and I would use it to my advantage. I had Renee, I had other sweet coworkers, there was just too much in the present to worry about, that I could not imagine returning to the past. It worked perfectly, for the most part.

But sometimes I couldn't help but wish that things had turned out differently.

---------------------------------------------------

Renee and I boarded the first subway that came our way, and we quickly grabbed some seats toward the back. I loved the subway for no reason in particular. The sensation that time and space were quickly slipping by thrilled me to no extent.

"So, Mia, what've you got planned tonight? A hot date with Conor?" Renee gave me a sly grin, and I playfully slugged her shoulder.

"Oh, please. A hot date, you have to be kidding me!"

Renee gave me a highly skeptical look.

"Fine, you got me," I yelped, throwing my hands up into the air. "You're half right: I'm heading off to dinner with Conor tonight, but it's going to be far from 'hot'. God, Renee, you're hilarious sometimes."

"Mia, Mia. You _know_ I'm right. You two have been together for more than two years now. It's not like things are completely awkward and juvenile." She paused, raising her eyebrows skeptically. "I know you guys don't just sit around and watch movies all day."

"Renee, you know what I mean." I grinned.

She shoved me jokingly.

A gust of wind blew through my hair as the doors of the subway train blasted open at the next stop. I fixed to run my fingers through my light brown mass of hair, which was no longer blonde, and my hands brushed against a clasp at the back of my neck. I rotated the necklace that I was wearing so that it regained its normal position, and continued to counter Renee's playful statements.

The necklace was as simple, as simple could be, to the naked eye. But if one strained her eyes, she would be able to notice an intricate pattern of flowers on the silver chain.

It was a necklace that seemed simple, but had a rough past of complicated secrets.

---------------------------------------------------


	3. the screwed up life i led

[**A/N:** _Really_ long author's note, but bear with me. Terribly sorry for the lack of updates… school's out for me now, and I was really busy with exams all last week. And this week, I'm on vacation, and I did bring my laptop, but today's the first day I found free wireless internet connection. Screwy details like that. But I'm here now!

To all who reviewed… a **_big_** thank you! I _love_ your wonderful feedback, and am thrilled that you are having fun with this. Thanks to all of you. (And by the way: I've got most of this planned out, and I've realized that it isn't going to be too terribly long. Perhaps 10-11 chapters?)

The conflict, some of you may think, is a bit sketchy. I don't know much about the US Military, and have no idea whether or not there is actually a base located in Honolulu, Hawaii. I don't even know if anything like Michael's job exists, and have no idea if the conditions would be even the least bit realistic, but this is the world of fiction, and I can make some things up, right? And anyways: **This story isn't about the conflict that pulls Mia and Michael apart… it's about the stuff that occurs because of it.**

And another thing. I know that many of you have written these delightful PD futuristic stories, but many of you portray Michael to always been a musician. A famous one, at that. I wish I could do that, but I can't weave it into my story without getting too cliché. You guys are the true masterminds at that. But in all honesty, I find that the type-of-Michael I introduce here will be equally wonderful (teehee isn't that a given?), and if you read about his interests with computers in the books, it makes more sense than you expect. On the other hand, I've always imagined Michael to be the cussing type (not too much, but occasionally). I hope I don't offend anybody with his language time-to-time. Enjoy anyways!]

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

This was the tenth moving day in the last six years. The tenth. "Damn," I muttered as I hauled one last box into my truck. This was merely routine for me, but I couldn't help but feel that I was sometimes being dragged around. Like that one chew toy that Pavlov loved to carry around day and night.

I had first packed up my belongings when I was about to graduate from college at Columbia University, and headed off to Hawaii. My parents and Lilly stayed in New York, but I had "duties to fulfill". I wasn't exactly "drafted" into the military (heck, I was practically done with college), but word had come my way that positions in Hawaii needed to be filled, and the base at the island state was in need of young men (out of college) who could work the logistics, all the while ready to enter combat, if at all necessary. I had found the opportunity to be perfect, as my computer science major would be of great help, and new jobs were scarce these days. I would soon be out of college. An adult. I would need money to stay alive on my own.

_"Michael, honey, we're not going to send you off to Hawaii. You have no choice in the matter. We're not going to risk entering you in the military if it's avoidable at any cost."  
__I had been overly stubborn. "Mom, dad! The pay is amazing, absolutely amazing! I'll be able to put my degree to work in the best possible way – I'll be serving my country! Don't you understand how important that is?"  
__In response, they had been equally stubborn. "Michael, we have no intention of putting you into danger."  
__I blew up. "Danger?! This is the logistics of war, and you know it! The combat part is there just so that nobody lackadaisical applies! Don't you understand? I want control of my life, and this is a prime way to test my skills!"  
__After days of consideration and debating, I had won.  
__Hawaii__, it would be.  
__And then, the full intensity of the job was unfolded before my eyes. "Dear Mr. Moscovitz," the acceptance letter stated. "We would like to commend your bravery and loyalty to your country. You have been accepted to the position at the Honolulu base, and we would like you to come at the end of this month. The assignment at hand is one of great importance, and you should understand that your stunning performance in school and your sheer talent with technology has landed you with the job. Once again, congratulations. From this point on, matters must be taken extremely seriously. The information you will be analyzing and working with is strictly meant to be confidential, and it is not allowed to be transferred to any other individual. Because of this, we would like you to break contact with your closest friends and family for the four years you will be serving with us. We will provide you with any necessities you may need. We look forward to seeing you in May."  
__I was stunned. This was not what I had meant to pull myself into, but as I angrily scanned the original application form, I saw the fine print at the bottom:_ "This position must be taken seriously. We may ask you to stay isolated at our base for reasons undisclosed. Please take this into consideration."  
_I hadn't done that. I had been too caught up in the glory of snagging a job, a job that I could serve my country with, that I had overlooked other important parts.  
__My parents were beyond disappointed when they found out about the fine print details. "Michael," they had uttered. "Please don't tell us that you didn't know this. It's too late to change things, you realize, this isn't a normal job! We're thrilled that something so important will be put in your hands, but confidential information for the US Military? This sounds more risky than the actual combat of battle, honey. Do you know how many background checks have probably been done on you? There's no way out now… we just can't comprehend… losing a part of our family for so long! Michael! Oh, honey. We want to be disappointed in you; we really do, for making this decision in the first place, but, forgive us for sounding off-task… Grandpa Moscovitz would be proud. I know we've never told you this, but… but he served in the military in the logistics aspect, as well. It was late in his life, but it was something he had always wished to do. And he succeeded – he did so well. He made everyone proud." There was a slight pause, and my mother leaned forward to wrap me up in a tight hug. "And I know, Michael, that you'll make us proud, too."  
__I knew that that had been my parents' reluctant acceptance of the situation at hand.  
__That night, I had went on my first shopping trip. To find a necklace. Something simple. Something original. Something that provided all with hope._

That had been the cause for my first moving day. And it had been much too complicated, even for a solid guy like me. It was the day I had let go of my life.

And now, nine moving days later, I was ready to make the move back to New York, the place where I had started everything. I had successfully finished off my term as the "logistics guy" in the military, fiddling around with the technology and computer stats needed to put special operations into order. A few of the other guys, also detached from the world like myself, put together a band in our rare spare time, and we jammed some crazy tunes. I rekindled my love for guitar, and even though we were never good enough to perform, it passed the time in a most worthwhile manner.

After my term was over, in which I definitely could not bring myself to stay for a second session, I roamed around the western states for a year or so, enjoying the good weather, and making up for all that I had missed while I had been fiendishly working for the good of the USA. I hooked up with some girls a few times, as the western chicks always seemed to like guys from the military [A/N: I definitely am not trying to offend anyone, please understand], and tried my hand at gambling. Crazy and different things that I would never have imagined doing back in the days of high school. But I was never meant to be a wanderer, and I realized where I needed to return. I realized I needed to stabilize.

And that meant returning to New York. My parents were thrilled to know that I would be coming back, and I was somewhat excited myself. I finally had a normal job waiting for me (I would be working as the computer programmer in some fancy and prestigious investigation company) and had called up some of the guys from college in hopes of getting back together and catching up. And playing the guitar.

But no matter how hard I tried, I came to realize that I had lost touch with some people forever. But that was what I had expected when I had accepted that fateful job nearly six years ago.

It was time to go.

---------------------------------------------------


	4. on the job

[**A/N**: Once again, thanks for all reviews, and keep on reviewing, because I love to read each and every one of them. They really inspire me, believe it or not.  
cahkoh – I totally understand you not being able to imagine Michael in the military, but remember, he was the logistics guy? I was hoping that might make up for it, but not everything's perfect. Teehee.  
Good news (at least for this story): I've got this story completely mapped out, so everything exists for a reason. Hint: pay attention to details from time to time.  
Longer chapter than usual. In fact, I'm a bit annoyed that my chapters are so short. Expect longer chapters, for the most part, from here on out. Happy reading.]

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

New York was refreshing, something I had definitely not expected. The sights and scenes were exciting and enjoyable, and I continued to regret that I had left for Hawaii in the first place. _'Oh, how different my rotten life would be if I had never gone,'_ I couldn't help but think over and over again. _'How different certain things might be…'_

But I refused to dwell on the past, or at least I seriously attempted to keep my head clear and focused. As stubborn as I thought myself to be, however, I couldn't help myself in the occasional moments when I would watch an attractive girl walk by, and instinctively scan her neckline, always looking for one thing, and one thing only--

"Moscovitz! Department meeting in ten minutes, so get rolling!"

I blinked my way back to reality, and shook my head, staring back into my computer screen and the complicated facts and figures that flashed to life. I needed to get back to work.

---------------------------------------------------

Back when I was a minion in high school, I had always wondered why my teachers had dreaded those weekly faculty meetings that sometimes got us out of school early. I now knew why. Although I didn't exactly work at school (hell with the idea), departmental meetings always took a long time. Pointless updates about how we should productively spend time in the office. A bunch of bullshit.

But there was something different in store for us today.

Our project manager stood at the front of the conference room, pen stuck behind his ear, hair sticking up, ready to roll out his daily list of "things to do". The first point he presented, brought cheers from everyone, as we were informed that our main investigator, James Maurer, was ready to begin a new case. And anything new was constantly welcomed these days.

"Yes. Maurer's next case deals with a stock-market fool. You know the type. We've just got a lead that this guy's roaming the streets of urban New York City, but the details are cleverly hidden. He's been here for about two years, perhaps? Maurer needs to find him if we want a good chance of winning the case, because we need the guy to come in for questioning; we need him to admit the things he's done. This particular swindler's high in debt, and he's been running away from the law every second of his life. We need all our computer guys to check up on his whereabouts and we need to get him here as soon as possible." Our manager paused, raising his eyebrows.

"What's his name?" I asked nonchalantly.

"That's what I like to hear, Moscovitz. You up for the task?"

"I can do anything," I jokingly bragged. Suave look on my face. Score one for me.

Our manager grinned, raising his eyebrows in a most subtle manner. "Write this down, Moscovitz. And all the rest of you, too. As far as we know, he goes by the name of Morrison Parker."

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

In all honesty, politics bored me.

If it could all be up to me, I'd be working with Greenpeace until the moment I died. I only entered the political scene, because as much as I hated to admit it, I'd end up making some important political decisions in my life. Genovian politics.

While I was bored with politics, I realized I loved the decision-making involved. I loved being on top of the world, I loved that I was the mastermind behind the way things functioned. It was my role to roll the dice. My role to pick the right cards. And my internship in New York was filled with forks in the road, decision-making galore. With this feeling, I managed to tolerate my chosen job in life without much trouble, but things could definitely have been better.

---------------------------------------------------

Renee was heading off to meet a friend from college after work that day, and I was getting ready to pack up and head back to the apartment. The weekend was in full sight. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Surprise."

The voice was low and belonged to a suave person, and I, puzzled, whirled around to see none other than my "boyfriend" of two years. My surprise turned into sheer joy.

"Conor!" I squealed, dropping my briefcase of papers as I jumped into his arms. He leaned in for a kiss and I let him have it. "What's this?" I asked, as he handed me a bouquet of roses.

"Ah, nothing," he said somewhat mysteriously. "Can't a guy get some flowers for the girl he loves?"

I grinned at him playfully. "Of course he can! I couldn't wish for anything better from the guy who makes me absolutely happy."

He kissed me again and I ran my fingers through his smooth hair.

"How's work?"

"Eh, it's alright. The weekend's going to be absolutely delightful, though."

He smiled. "Come on, I'm taking you home today. But before that, we're going to go out and buy you a new necklace. I'm sick and tired of looking at that plain chain around your neck everyday. You deserve better; my princess deserves all the jewels in the world."

He was so sweet and I loved him for it.

"No, that's okay. This necklace—" I paused for a second, realizing that my heart had sped up slightly. "This necklace is special to me," I finished in a near-whisper. I had hardly talked about the priceless value behind the necklace to anyone I knew, and I shocked myself as the memories came rushing through one by one by one.

"Really?"

"Uh… yes. Really. Trust me, Conor."

He raised his eyebrows, but masked it up with a smile. "Whatever you say, Mia. Why don't we stop by for ice cream then? I'll take you home afterwards."

I couldn't help but grin. "Sounds perfectly fine to me."

_"It's the military," he had told me. "I'm not drafted into the army, heck no, Mia, but I'm going to do some logistics stuff for them."  
__"Really, Michael?__ You must be excited!" I was young and naïve at the time.  
__A look of sorrow swept across his face. "Hell, no. There's a lot of catches, Mia, things I didn't notice at first."  
__My heart plummeted. "Like… like what?"  
__"I'm going to be in Hawaii for the next four years."  
__I grinned. "That's wonderful for you! I'll come visit every chance I get, I promise. And you've always wanted to go somewhere exotic, oh, Michael! And," I added slyly, "you can always go and learn to play the ukulele instead of the guitar…"  
__Michael shook his head, seriousness creating creases in his perfect face. "There's something else, though. The minute I step foot on Hawaiian sand, I'm forbidden to keep in touch with _anyone_. The information exchanged in my job is supposedly the utmost confidential material in the US military bases, and they don't seem to want to take any risks."  
__I shook my head stubbornly. "Forbidden to keep in touch? But Michael!" A tear rolled down my cheek.  
__"I'm terribly sorry, Mia, I really am. I had no idea the situation would turn out like this. I love you, Mia, I love you so much… you don't understand how much this is killing me inside."  
__I was silent. The world felt like it had come crashing down on me.  
__He kissed me, and I wished I could drown myself in it._

We stopped at a street vendor's cart on my way home, and Conor jokingly bought me a Popsicle. A Popsicle. One of those super-firework-type Popsicles: red, white, and blue. Cherry, lemon, and blueberry. I loved the childish simplicity of it.

"I'm sorry it's not Ben and Jerry's," he murmured. But I didn't care. I loved it.

He took a plain cherry Popsicle for himself, and the vendor gave us a smile as he watched us: two adults, well out of college, lapping at a stick of frozen sugar water each. "Enjoy!"

We walked down Fifth Avenue, passing the corner café I loved to visit so often, and entered the subway station from the entrance roughly twenty yards away. Everything seemed perfect, in an almost immature way, and we laughed the whole way home.

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

I was sitting at a window table inside _The Coffee Hut_, one of New York's best places to go and gulp down some caffeine. A whole heck of a lot better than Starbucks, if I may say so myself. I always ordered the same: a mug of black with one sugar cube, and one sugar cube only.

I sipped the steaming liquid as I flipped through my notes on Maurer's latest assignment. This was going to be a tough case, I realized, as I saw all of the precautions our suspect had previously taken. The guy that we were dealing with was overly cautious, and knew how to turn investigators in circles.

My cell phone rang at that moment, and I fumbled to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Yo, Moscovitz! That you, dawg? This is Felix, remember me?"

I grinned and shoved my notes aside. "Felix, my man! How've you been doing?"

"Life's been treating me well. Got this hot chick who follows me around day and night, and I'm seriously thinking of proposing. But before I do any of that romantic sappy stuff, we need to get together and jam some tunes. Relive some Skinner Box. [A/N: I think that's only from the movie, but in the world of Michael, all is wonderful.] We're all under thirty, still, I say we still have the energy to get together and storm the world. You up for that?"

"Definitely, man. Send me some details!"

"Hey, I'll do that. But I have to run, call you later!"

I laughed. Some people hadn't changed at all.

As I stacked my notes up, and downed the last bit of my coffee, I heard a little boy mutter, "Look, mommy! That man's drinking his coffee black… you said that was bad!"

I looked in their direction almost stupidly, then quickly turned away, the boy's phrase sticking out in my mind. '_Mia had never approved of black coffee,' _I realized, and gazed out the window one last time. A young couple, more my age, was walking by, the man holding a bouquet of roses, the woman slurping at a firecracker Popsicle.

'That could have been me,' I thought, in reference to the guy. 'If I hadn't given everything up at age 22, in a quest for glory and money, I could be leading a different life right now.' Everything about my life suddenly felt bitter. 'I could have tried out for Rob's band in college, and I heard they're getting some good gigs, who knows? I might not be involved with this computer technology stuff today. I might have been a lead guitarist of some famous band. I could have a girlfriend, not just any girlfriend, I'd have Mia. My Mia. I left her and told her to be happy. I left… I left my princess.' Tilting the cup of coffee as far back as it could go, I licked up the last droplets and stood, more than ready to head on home.

I saw it at that moment. "Holy crap," I whispered.

Dangling from the Popsicle woman's neck was a chain.

A silver chain. An utterly plain and simple chain.

I rubbed my eyes, watching the two retreating figures head down the stairs into the subway station. "Shit," I muttered, kicking the chair in as I pitched the Styrofoam cup into the garbage. My feet felt frozen to the ground, but the rest of me had already leapt out the door. "Shit!"

"Mia," I managed to choke out, wishing she could hear me. "I've waited six years, and I don't think I can wait any longer."

---------------------------------------------------


	5. watching you from afar

[**A/N:** Oh man.  I got on the computer the day after uploading the last chapter and I was all, "Man!  Big rush of reviews!"  It isn't a lot, compared to a lot of other stories, but I love each and every one of them the same.  Your feedback makes me smile, and this last bunch topped it all off.  And I'm glad to see that I'm actually on your guys' author alert lists. Very thrilling. Teehee. Keep on reviewing, though.  They're fun to read.  They really are.

This isn't a happy-fluffy chapter (and it'll be the same with the next one), but it's all necessary.  You'll see.]

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

I fumbled through my purse, looking for my keys to the apartment.

"Crap," I muttered, when I realized that I must've set them down somewhere else.

"What's the matter?" Conor asked, a look of concern spreading over his face.

"Nothing."

He grabbed me from behind, wrapping me in a hug.  "You sure?"

I mock-pouted.  "No.  I lost my keys and I'll probably have to go down to the office to get a spare set.  The old guy in charge hates my guts; he thought I brought too much publicity into the complex back in the day.  And he just seems to hate the younger generation for no reason at all.  I'm just really tired today…"

"You want to come over to my place?  We can order out some Chinese and watch some movies," he suggested, almost pleadingly.  Almost mischievously. 

I was highly tempted, but stood my ground.  "Nah.  Renee'll be back soon, and I'll see you tomorrow, anyways.  We have a busy morning tomorrow, remember?  And like I said, I'm tired.  Oh, and I promised Grandmère that I'd give her a call and catch up on some Genovian issues." I groaned at the last task at hand.  "I'm sorry, forgive me, all right?"

He tousled my hair.  "Your wish is my command.  Give me a call tonight, will you?"

I smiled, and twisted around to face him.  Slowly closing my eyes, I leaned in and gave him a kiss.  "Take that as a 'yes'," I told him when I backed away.

He bowed with a flourish, like a medieval prince (no irony intended), and headed out the door.  I rummaged through my purse one last time, and with no luck finding my keys, I set off on a not-so-glorious trip over to the maintenance office.

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

I was a mess.  Literally.

Everything seemed so screwed, so disjointed, and I ran towards the subway station like an inhabitant from an insane asylum.  My hair was tousled, my papers close to flying out of its folder, and my breath was ragged.  Was I turning absolutely crazy, or was that woman really Mia?

Mia Thermopolis?

My Mia Thermopolis, the Genovian princess who had always complained about her flat chest?

There would only be one way to find out.

Dodging little kids, old women, and hasty businessmen, I ran.  I ran like no computer guy would ever be expected to run.  I ran for Mia.

I spotted her and her friend (her boyfriend?) waiting at the first subway stop, and arrived at the gate just as the train came to a shuddering stop before them.  I searched my pocket for the fare, and coming up with a fistful of pennies, I crammed it all in and leapt forward.

The subway train was about to depart, and I flew into the car as the doors were shutting.  Gratefully throwing myself into a seat by the door, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, and waited until my breathing grew back to normal before looking up at the other passengers.

There she sat, at the other end of the car. 

I tilted my head to the side, practically squinting, and bore my eyes into her.  She had flowing brown hair, a tangle of messy strands that somehow appeared to be perfect.  She had large, hopeful eyes that glittered every second of the journey.  Her crimson lips twisted into a sly smile, and there was no doubt that this was the smile that I had fallen in love with from an early age.

The man that sat next to her, weaving his fingers through hers, nuzzled her shoulder, and whispered something into her ear, and she laughed.  It was a musical, but somehow skittery, laugh.  The laugh wasn't exactly the same; it seemed to have been worn down and hardened.  It was almost nervous, but pure, nonetheless.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was Mia.

And to further prove my point, she had been wearing the necklace.  It was beyond simple, but it sparkled even to this day.  It was beyond simple, yet it was unique.  It was one-of-a-kind for her, and all the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

I restrained myself from jumping forward and shoving the other guy aside.  I clenched my fists, trying to forget about all of the impulsive feelings that were building up inside of me.  _'Chill, Moscovitz.  Take it one step at a time,'_ I attempted to persuade myself.  _'You've stayed patient for so long, try and hold it in for a little longer.'_

I breathed in and out, in and out.  _'And,'_ the rational side of me argued, _'there's no guarantee that she'll want you back.'_  Spoiling my fun.  Spoiling my hope.

But I wanted her back.  I wanted to be with her more than anything.  Wasn't that enough?

The two got off at the fourth stop, and I quietly followed, only able to watch her from afar.  I felt almost out-of-place as I followed her footsteps, and stopped altogether when she entered an apartment complex a few blocks from the station.

Hesitantly, I stood outside the large glass doors, leaning against the textured brick wall.  I shoved my hands in my pockets, and looked towards the sky for a few seconds.  This was really where I belonged.  In New York.  Near Mia.  Like the way things were supposed to be.  No doubt about it.  I sucked in another deep breath.  In and out.  _Oh man, Moscovitz.  What're you going to do now, kid, huh?_  As the seconds ticked by, I kicked a pebble around, wondering what to make my next move.__

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

It was funny how I had not noticed the drop in temperature while I had walked home with Conor.  But now, as I shuffled out the door, ready to walk over to the little brick house across the street, I shivered instinctively, crossing my arms over my chest in an attempt to keep me warm.  _'I'm so stupid,'_ I thought to myself.  _'Renee's going to really laugh at me this time…'_

Nobody else was outside, except for a young man, classily dressed in khakis and a button down shirt underneath his dark jacket.  He was hesitantly leaning against the building, looking down at the ground, and his hands were inside his pockets, in an almost innocent fashion; but in reality, he looked out of place.  I wondered if he was lost.  I glanced at him sideways, taking in his messy hair and distinct figure.  He was cute, no doubt about it, and I almost thought it to be a pity that I had Conor.

"Are you looking for someone?" I asked cheerily, and a wave of philanthropic emotion swept over me.  '_I'll help him out and then see if I can go get my keys,'_ I decided. 

The man looked up and stared at me, the neutral look on his face transforming into bewilderment.  He furrowed his eyebrows, and gazed up at me, almost unsure of if he was really seeing me or not.

"Mia?"

Everything came rushing at me, the memories slapping me across the face.  I searched his face, slowly at first, and then took a quick step back as everything settled into place. 

I had only heard one word, my name, spoken by that voice, but the tones had instantly been engraved in my mind.  No, that wasn't right.  I had heard those exact pitches many times in my life.  Much too many times before. 

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

My voice was strangely hoarse.  "Mia?" I stuttered in a strangled whisper, then felt myself blush as I clapped my hand over my mouth.  _Moscovitz, you're damn retarded.  _

She hesitantly stepped back, but the entire time, she was giving me a probing look.  Not knowing what to do with my hands, I pointlessly held them in front of me and looked her straight in the eye.  I made sure she could never forget who I was.

"Oh my God," she whispered, wringing her hands together, her own voice equally strangled.  She slowly cocked her head to the side and I could tell at that instant that her heart rate had skipped a few beats.  As was mine.

I helplessly stood where I was. 

She bit her lip, her eyes no longer able to meet mine.  The nervous expression, the look of being caught red-handed… it was all too familiar.  She finally looked up at me, observing the features of my face again, and whispered, "Michael?"

I laughed bitterly, almost forcedly.  "Oui."  _French, Moscovitz, French?  What the crap is the matter with you?_

"Michael…"  She gulped, her eyes growing rounder and rounder, her cheeks turning a bright shade of crimson.  "Michael!"

"It's been a long time," I muttered under my breath.  _Nice move, Moscovitz, nice move._

She stood, absolutely mute, but her face reflected a palette of emotions: shock, distraught, disbelief.  She seemed like she wanted to smile, to whoop out in joy, but her stronger and more serious side held her back.  She stood, her face dangerously clouding over with emotions. 

"You want to talk?  Go out for some drinks?"

Mia nodded, hesitantly accepting the offer.  I stuck my arm out so that she could take it, but she looked away and merely led me to a nearby café. 

---------------------------------------------------


	6. catching up with the old times

[**A/N:** Thanks for all your reviews, especially those few that actually give me insight to my writing and ways to improve even the smallest things. It's all so very awesome. And just so you know, these next few chapters are going to be somewhat sappy. I guess it doesn't help that what I'm trying to write about calls for sappiness. I apologize to any of you, in advance, if this is what you most definitely detest. Thanks for sticking with this story, though! (And yes, I realize, there is no real purpose of this story. Well, at least not yet. But anyways, I'm in a writing mood, so you guys should expect a super-chapter extravaganza when I next update! Whee!)  
Oh, and by the way, Renee is merely Mia's roommate. I'm not quite sure if she'll make another appearance, but she's a minor, minor character.]

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

"So." I couldn't bring myself to say any more.

Mia tilted her head up, glancing at me as she casually sipped a chilled cappuccino, and I felt a sudden pang of guilt reverberate through my system. '_I wasn't good enough for her in the first place,'_ I thought miserably. _'I left her in the best days of her life. I left her so that I could fulfill my own dreams… and I didn't bother to come back.'_

I uncomfortably cleared my throat. "So… how's life been treating you?"

She ignored my question and fiddled around with a stunning ring on her finger. Studded with miniscule diamonds. White gold. A luminous shine to it. The works. Beyond the works.

A ring.

I felt my world spin out of control. I had come so far, so incredibly far, waiting so long, this could not be right. "Are you… are you engaged?" I felt myself choking up. _Or worse, are you… married?_

She shook her head, letting out a nervous laugh. "No. He's not ready yet."

As simple as that. _But who's 'he'?_

We sat at the corner table, the mood much too awkward, for what seemed like an eternity. Mia stared at her fingers, her nails, and I counted the grooves on the table. Traced them with my fingers. Time passed. Nothing happened.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I really mean it, Mia, when I ask how life has been for you," I said, my teeth practically clenched.

She sadly peered up at me and the look on her face made me turn away.

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

I had always been waiting for this moment. In all seriousness, a part of me had always been waiting for the time when I'd get to see Michael Moscovitz again. And now, now that my wish had been finally granted, I wanted to have nothing to do with it.

"How's life been treating you?" he had asked several times.

You wouldn't know, Michael, you wouldn't know.

_I had been counting the days. Literally counting. Painstakingly and purposefully marking the days down on my Greenpeace "Save the Whales" calendar with a red pen – a cheap, red, plastic ballpoint pen. Before he had left, Michael had told me the exact day when he'd be free to live life as he wished again. It was in the contract. It was in stone. Regardless of anything that may have happened, he would be released from this four-year job on that exact day. May 28th. Nothing could make it different. The special day, the day that I had been awaiting, and that he must've been counting down to as well, was what kept me going. I was beyond ready to see his face, to hear his voice, and to smile in his presence once more.  
__We had known from the start that this relationship of ours was meant to last. It was a cheesy sentiment, yes, but everything was beyond perfect. The real test of time, now, would be Michael's job. That was the way to look at it, we learned to realize, and his job no longer became a pointless barrier. Just an obstacle destined to make us stronger.  
__Michael had decided from the start that he would call me the minute his contract was over. "I'll call first," he had said. "Expect the phone call. May 28th. You'll know it's from me."  
__It sounded wonderful, but I had had my doubts. "What if," I smirked, raising my eyebrows jokingly, "what if you forget to call? I mean, you _are _a guy, after all."  
__He pretended to look horrified. "Mia!" He had tackled me onto the couch and tickled me in my weakest spots. "Of course, I'll call. Calling you the day I get out will mean that I remember. That I still love you to death. And believe me, I won't forget. You'll see, you'll see." He paused for a second, while I tried to recover from the laughter spurts that were nearly suffocating me. I watched as he thought about something, not seriously at all, and then grinned. "Fine, then. Just so that you won't be able to yell at me if I happen to be busy that day. Give me a grace period. One extra day. Just in case. I'll call you before May 30th begins, I promise. I absolutely promise."  
__It was a done deal._

"I really mean it, Mia, when I ask how life has been for you," Michael's voice was much too strained. I glanced up; I was forced to glance up.

"It's been all right." I was hesitant, careful to pick and choose what I wanted to say. "I'm temporarily on break from my royal duties. I have a couple more years in New York, and then I'm probably gone for good."

I knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear. He seemed distraught over the ring on my finger, the ring that Conor had bought me on our two-year anniversary. Not a wedding ring. Not an engagement ring. Merely a beautiful present. Just a "promise" for things to come. Good things to come.

Michael wanted to know about these other things. But my mouth would be shut for the time being.

_My alarm clock was my worst enemy that morning. I had gone to sleep late the previous night, while hanging out with my college friends, and the harsh beeping noise was the last thing I had wanted to hear. I had forced myself out of bed, only to realize it was a Saturday morning, and I had been fully ready to snuggle back underneath my covers, when I had glanced over at the calendar on the wall.  
__May 28th.  
__I had bolted right back up, wildly searching for my cell phone. When I found it inside the back pocket of the jeans I had worn the other day, I flipped it open, hastily checking for messages. None yet, but I smiled, knowing that in less 24 hours, I would hear his voice again.   
__But the day had slowly passed, the minutes agonizingly ticking by, and my cell phone had only rang once. A call from my mother. Checking to see when I'd come back to New York over the summer. Not Michael. Not his deep, creamy, voice and the happiness he brought with him.  
__I went to bed that night, slightly nervous, but sure that he would call the next day. He was a guy, after all, I recalled, and he would need the grace period that he had so jokingly created._

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.

"And you?" I asked. "How's life with you?"

Michael looked up from the table, probing my face with his dark eyes. I read the message that radiated from his face, and the bitter look told all: _do you really want to know?_ He was being stubborn, hard to work with, in an attempt to put me through the frustration he had most likely experienced a few minutes ago. Silent revenge, Michael Moscovitz style.

_Do you really want to know?_

As much as I hated to admit it, I did. But I sat still, and waited.

Waited patiently. Like I had done so many times before.

_He hadn't called on May 29th. He hadn't called on May 30th. And May 31st was just the same. He didn't call June 1st, he didn't call June 2nd, he didn't call June 3rd, he didn't call June 4th.  
__"Calling you the day I get out will mean that I remember. That I still love you to death." His words, ancient little words from _four years ago_, suddenly filled my mind and I bit my lip every time those few phrases invaded my thoughts. He hadn't called. So what did that mean? I almost didn't want to know the answer.  
__I finally decided to call him myself, after over a week of waiting. When I apprehensively dialed the number, put the phone to my ear, and sucked in my breath, knowing that I would finally talk to him (a confrontation, yes, but it would still be Michael, nonetheless), the response I got was not what I had expected.  
__I never got to talk to him. His number was no longer in service. He had changed his cell phone number. He had forgotten. He had forgotten me. He didn't love me to death anymore._

"What's there to say?" Michael's voice was empty, yet cheery in a fake sort of way. "Things have changed. I've been through a lot. I have a new job?" The last part sounded too unsure, too much like a question. A second thought that had been thrown on at the last moment.

"Really," I sighed, and launched an attempt to continue with the small talk. Small talk to someone I had had so many serious and important conversations with in the past. It was frustrating. "What do you do?"

His eyes never stopped searching my face. He was trying to test me. If it was up to him, he would never be the first to crumble. "I work with an investigation company downtown. The private eye guys list out what they need to find, and I take my computer knowledge and try to salvage results."

"Oh."

Michael took a deep breath, unsure of whether or not to change the subject. "You're still wearing – still wearing…"

I instinctively fingered the chain on my neck. "Yeah. I guess I am." I watched as the look on his face softened, but I bit my lip and bitterly added, "But it might be because I have nothing else to wear." His face twisted back to its former uncomfortable position and the atmosphere grew chilly once more.

"I missed you, Mia."

I looked up at him, straight into his eyes. I didn't know what to say to that. I would have, a few years ago, but not anymore. "Things have changed, Michael," I whispered, echoing his very words.

_All my attempts to find Michael were to no avail. Lilly had left for barren Africa and the Drs. Moscovitz had moved out of their old apartment, and I had somehow never been informed of their new contact numbers. And Michael, himself, _never_ called.  
__A week or two later, some lousy reporter from some lousy magazine had apparently gained access to my cell phone number. I only took comfort from the fact that it was not Grandmère that had snitched; she could thankfully never remember the last four digits in order. This reporter, however, knew my number quite well and called me day and night, begging to snatch an interview with me and pave her way to fame and fortune. I definitely refused. Yet she kept calling, and the thoughts of extended publicity made me turn green.   
__I hesitated before deciding to change my cell phone number. What if… what if… what if _he _would try and call? 'No, he won't,' I stubbornly decided. 'Michael had a long time. And he left no way for me to contact him. That's probably the last I've ever heard from him.' My stubbornness had slowly drifted to longing, but I knew what I had to do.  
__That was the way to close everything up. That was the way for me to ignore everything that had happened in the past. It was, without a doubt, over, and the tears I shed that night, I vowed, were the last I would ever shed for Michael Moscovitz._

---------------------------------------------------


	7. i wish i didn't have to let go

[**A/N:** Very sorry for taking so long to update. All my fault, but I'm here now. Whee!  
The beginning of this chapter (Michael's flashback, I mean) is somewhat odd. I would say it's slightly OOC, but it depends on how you take it in. You'll see what I mean. And I'm warning you all right now, but **sappy story alert**, at least for the next two chapters or so. But I think you guys will like it.  
And I've written you guys a much longer chapter this time, because I love you all so darn much. This is my flashback chapter, where I actually have to explain all this so you guys all understand what I'm clawing at.  
This entire story will probably end up at **ten chapters** or so. We're more than halfway done. Bummer, eh?  
Anyways, thanks again for reviewing! (micarmine05, you and your friends are just too sweet...) Happy reading, folks.]

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

_"Excuse me, excuse me… you will be asked to clear all your belongings within the next three days. Please keep this in mind as you prepare to leave the premises." A groan rippled through the crowd, in which packing and cleaning were the least important things on everyone's mind. The person at the podium cleared his throat, waiting for complete silence. "Ahem. But before we let you go, we would like to thank you for your service during the last four years. We hope you realize just how much your effort was appreciated. The best of luck to you in the future!"  
And with those words, I was _free_. Absolutely free! The crowd around me whooped out loud in joy, the guys thumping each other on the back. The feeling was absolutely exhilarating. Everyone spilled out of the building and outside into the blackness of the evening, a great deal of people still screaming, and I just watched, a smile spreading across my face.  
"Come on, Moscovitz," one of my (technically, now former) roommates yelled into my ear. "We're all heading down to the club, bet you don't want to miss out!"  
Freedom.  
I grinned and joined the rest of the crew.  
It was a short walk, but just on our way there, I saw fellow guys lining up to use the pay phone, enjoying the ability to keep in contact with loved ones. I frowned, realizing that I didn't have my cell phone with me (I had never used it in the last four years, so where the heck could it be by now?) and resolved to touch base in New York after the fun.  
The atmosphere was absolutely crazy. Insane, to put it lightly. I had downed three glasses of some sort of spiked beer (if that could even be possible, but I didn't completely know what I was drinking) that my friends tossed at me, and the lightheadedness that greeted me was an odd change. Colors swirled, the music thumped into my ears, and I felt overpowering. Macho Michael Moscovitz.  
There was a girl. A red-headed beauty who had slunk over to where I was sitting, and began to flip her hair so that it continually smacked my head. Her voice was melodic, tinted with flirtation, and her long lashes made her eyes stand out, forcing me to just gape at her. She wore a low cut shirt of some sort and didn't bother to hide her toned midriff. It all left me speechless, and with her giggling in my face, with no space between us, my head was spinning.   
"Lilly!" The attractive redhead called out to a blonde girl, most likely a friend, and pointed over to a strict non-drinker friend of mine who seemed awfully bored. "He'll enjoy your company." The two winked at each other, and the blonde jumped onto my friend's lap. I turned my head away and tried, unsuccessfully, to sort my thoughts out.   
"Lilly?" I slurred, questionably. "That's my sister's name… she's best friends with someone named Mia… she's my girlfriend… Mia's my girlfriend… she's some princess…"  
"Shhh…" Miss Redhead put a finger to my lips but I slapped it away. I barely noticed that her other hand was snaking up my neck and playing around with my hair.   
"She was a princess!" I yelled out loud as I gulped down my fourth glass, slamming it down on the table like they always showed in the movies. The room was spinning and the redhead grabbed a shot of something off another table and poured it into my mouth. She began nibbling my neck and I gulped the strong stuff down. "I haven't been allowed to talk to her for four years, and I'm nearly crazyyyyy for her!"  
The girl looked up at me amusedly, but I could tell, even when I was only half-alive, that she was beginning to get a bit bored. Her scathing eyes beckoned me to dive into the fun, to meet her halfway, instead of talking about Mia. But I couldn't.   
"She's supposed to call me tonight! I'm waiting! Where the fuck is she?"   
Was that right? Had we decided that she would call me first? I couldn't remember anymore. It sounded right… Mia would never force me to make the first move.  
"She forgot you. But I'm here for you, now." Miss Redhead purred into my ear, and I found myself kissing her, losing myself in her, and falling onto the floor with her on top of me._

"Things have changed, Michael."

Her words were nothing more than a whisper. Was she being sarcastic? A solemn expression was stamped onto her face, her eyes honest and round. That look reminded me of the classic deer in headlights, but I shook the image away. It was much more serious than that. She quickly brightened up, however, attempting to shake off the coldness that had gathered around us, and a toothy smile lit up her face. "Yeah. Like I said. Things have changed. But it _is _good to see you, Michael."

Something wasn't right. Something felt empty, too bright, too cheery. But Mia was smiling.

"Same to you?" I wrung my hands together.

Mia slowly reached into her purse and pulled her cell phone out. "Do you mind," she began to ask, "if you give me your number? You know, us being 'reuniting friends' and all."

I realized how hard it was for her to ask me that.

_The hangover I had experienced the next morning made me absolutely delirious. I was surprisingly relieved to realize I had not gotten into too much trouble the night before – according to the friend who had been sitting with me, the redhead had cleverly managed to unbutton my shirt, but I had fallen completely asleep seconds later. My friend, realizing that what I needed was some rest, had shrugged the blonde off his lap and had dragged me away from the redhead, much to their dismay. He had merely carried me back to the base and dumped me in my room so I could get some rest. I spent my first full day of freedom, pretty much trying to chill out and get back to normal. The morning afterwards, my former base roommates came by to pick me up. "Remember, Michael? You paid for the plane ticket to California last month. It's time to head back to the mainland, brother. Yesterday was nothing; the fun begins on the West Coast. Time to get your move on. Let's load your stuff into the car, eh? Plane's scheduled to leave in two hours."  
I was still dizzy and half-conscious, but the trip to California, the real beginning of our freedom, was something that had never left my mind. And I was determined to not let the fact that I had had too many drinks the night before get in the way of my plans. I let the guys carry my things to the idling car outside, and attempted to shove my spare change, keys, and wallet into my pockets. My pockets. I shoveled my hands through, waiting for my fingers to clamp around my phone, but all I found were gum wrappers and… lint.   
"Dude," I sputtered out, "anyone know where my cell phone is?"  
The guys had groaned, inaudibly muttering about the lack of time, but had helped me search for it. "Can't find it," several of them muttered, after clawing through my boxes. "You sure you even brought it with you to Hawaii?"  
"Yeah." I remembered that I had talked on my cell phone with my parents on the plane ride here. But, I slowly realized, that was the last time I had ever seen it. Or used it.  
"Man, Moscovitz, we're sorry, but it's nowhere around here. You better cancel service on that thing, it's a goner, and just get a new one in San Francisco, eh? The deals are better there, anyways. Cheap is good, you know?"  
"Aw, dammit. I need my phone." There was no doubt in my mind that I needed to call someone. The thought kept nagging at me, something about some promise I had made a while back. I shut my eyes as the car rolled towards the airport, trying to remember, but all I felt was a headache. "Damn. Remind me to never drink four beers in a row again." I cussed underneath my breath, pissed off at myself that everything felt so fuzzy.  
I had no choice but to follow the advice of my pals, as we were in a hurry, and slowly began collecting money the minute we reached the mainland. Money for a new, high-tech phone, complete with a new number. And I soon got one. All mine.  
I wandered around a lot during those days in California. I had no purpose, everything was pointless, and I had a sort of aimless, dozing-off manner about me. I couldn't remember half of the important things in my life-before-the-military. And I didn't try, either. I liked living in my own alternate universe, in this "don't worry, be happy" sort of fairytale. It was what I needed, and I didn't bother to go back. Waking up, finding a donut to eat, chasing girls on the beach, hanging out with friends, but always staying clear of bars and pubs. My daily routine. There was nothing else to say, except for the fact that everything was just lazy and boring.   
And then, one day, a few weeks after landing in California, I saw _it_ in the newspaper. "Princess Amelia of Genovia: Temporary Career in New York." It was like a sudden waterfall, the way things came tumbling down, in one huge rush. The memories spilled out of nowhere, and I was forced to remember. I was jarred back into reality. Back to my life where Mia meant everything. Hesitantly, as I remembered all that I had left behind in New York, I had tried to call her from a pay phone, to see if she still remembered me.   
It turned out that her old cell phone number was out of service. This didn't make sense, at first, as I had always thought that we would get together again. But in all reality, I knew that I had nothing to say. 'I'm probably no longer a part of her life now.'  
And the years continued to pass by, not waiting for me to catch up with the race._

I gave her my number, and she, in turn, gave me hers. It was a formal, simple exchange of seven numbers each, to be used to the caller's discretion. Like on the food pyramid or on a nutrition label – "to be used sparingly". It killed me inside.

"Well," she said, as she gathered her things and slowly stood up. "I better get going. I still need to go find a spare pair of keys so that I can be at the apartment to greet my roommate. It was… nice meeting you?"

I stood up with her. "You know," I whispered, leaning across the table to get a good look into her eyes, secretly hoping that what I was about to say wasn't too completely unnecessary, "Things _happened_ after the four year span. I was confused. I wasn't thinking right. I didn't change my phone number on purpose, if you wondered. I tried to call, later on, I really did. The timing just sucked, Mia, it really did."

"Oh, really? That's done and over with now, Michael, you know that." Her tone was almost listless, yet almost scolding. She paused. "I don't know how else to say it, but things have _really_ changed. And I'm not just saying that for the fun of it, you know?"

Mia looked at me, almost pleadingly, then gave me a quick hug and walked out. I clenched my fists, realizing what kind of situation I had been thrown into, and could only look down at my feet as Mia disappeared from my life once more.

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

I nearly ran out of the café, unable to bear the tension between the two of us. It was maddening. It was purely insane. I quickly began walking back to my apartment, not bothering to turn around and take a look back at Michael. I needed time to think. Time to process all that had happened. Michael had reentered my life so unexpectedly, so awkwardly, and I was beyond confused.

I had wanted to leap into his arms. I had wanted him to hug me. I had wanted to look up into his eyes in admiration. I had wanted to plant a kiss on his cheek, as if the last handful of years had been one horrifying dream.

But I couldn't.

The excuses that came to mind were varied and colorful: As much as I hated to admit it, I had an image to maintain. The press would have none other than a field day if problems arose in my social life, and Grandmère would have a fit. I couldn't make such irresponsible decisions when I was still constantly scrutinized by the public. And plus, I had a great deal of self esteem (it had risen a fair deal since those days in high school), and I couldn't bring myself to beg for mercy at the heels of someone who had left me isolated after such a long time. I had been hurt. It all seemed to make so much sense.

_"Mia, you want your regular order this morning?"  
"Definitely." The cashier rang up one soy latte with whipped cream (and a hint of cinnamon), to go, a smile on his face. I slapped down a five dollar bill on the counter.   
It was routine for me to drop by The Coffee Hut before work each day. Everything was set up perfectly: I always ordered my regular soy latte, I always ordered it from my favorite cashier, Conor, and I'd always sip half of my drink up before heading over to the legislative building to begin work. It seemed odd, but I craved consistency in that inconsistent period of my life.   
The cashier that stood before me was a friendly and familiar face; he was a clever guy who had always aspired to stand out in the financial aspects of life, and had arrived in the New York scene roughly two months ago. Conor had grabbed a temporary job as a cashier, which didn't pay much, but he truly had his eyes on a business job next door at the financial building. I had first met him on his first day as a cashier, where I had ordered a soy latte from him and ended up spilling it all over my sleeve. Conor had panicked, stuttering apologies to no end, but I had smiled and shrugged it off. Most coincidentally, he became my favorite person to talk to in the morning, and I had gotten to know him quite well.  
"Hey…" I snapped out of my train of thought and looked straight into Conor's stunning, ocean-blue eyes. "Mia, today's my last day here. I got the job next door and I'm starting tomorrow."   
"Man, that's a bummer," I told him, genuinely disappointed. "I'll… I'll have to find someone else to talk to in the morning."  
He paused, almost unsure of whether or not to say what he had on his mind. "I was wondering, though, if you… wanted… to…" He mumbled the last half of his hesitant sentence.  
"Say that again?" I leaned in a bit closer.  
"You want to get together sometime? Just the two of us?" He was nearly whispering, a hopeful look on his face. A strand of his light brown hair fell across his eye.  
I blushed as the unexpected question hit me in the face, but I knew exactly what I was going to say. "You know what, Conor? I think that sounds perfectly _wonderful_."  
And even though it may have sounded shallow, I knew that everything was slowly returning back to normal. I knew that the holes in my life were beginning to finally fill up._

Michael Moscovitz had once been the ultimate love of my life, but he had left me. He hadn't bothered to come back. Did he have any idea what I had gone through the first couple weeks after the date of his scheduled return? He didn't. He couldn't have known. So what did that make him now? A long, lost friend?

_'Mia, you brat,'_ part of me scolded. _'Why is this situation all "me, me, me"? Have you ever thought of what Michael may be thinking? What _he_ might've gone through the last few years? Didn't you truly _love_ him back in the day? Was none of that real? And don't you still love him now? You know you do. You still have a place for him in your heart. And in all honesty, are you _that_ afraid of your reputation? You're frightened, Mia, you're just confused right now–"_

I shut my eyes.

And to top it all off, I was with Conor now. And that was what mattered. What was supposed to happen to _him_, then? Did everyone expect me to go cheat on my current boyfriend, a person who had made me so incredibly happy when I had been so alone, just so that I could chase after Michael? I couldn't bring myself to answer that question.

But no matter how hard I tried to forget, I found myself fingering my necklace, Michael's necklace, once more. I slowly rubbed the chain, letting it trickle through my fingers as if it were running water. A tear dripped down my face, and I hastily wiped it away.

"Michael," I whispered to the evening air, my face crinkling up. "I missed you, too, Michael, you wouldn't even have imagined how much I waited for you. I still love you, Michael, I really do." I let it all out in one ragged breath, shaking my head as my stubbornness gave way, making room for the little secrets that I had carefully guarded inside my heart.

The wind whistled through my hair, rolling leaves and gravel past my feet. Wrapping up my whisper of a message and sending it on its way. Giving me permission to let go for good.

"I promise this is for the best," I continued, knowing that he would never get to hear what I was saying. "There's not much else I can do. I'm sorry, Michael, really, I'm sorry. You'll understand, right?"

Another tear rolled down my cheek as I realized that I would never give Michael a chance to give his own response. But I knew what I had to do.

---------------------------------------------------


	8. the things we don't know

[**A/N:** I told you everything existed for a reason.  And if I recall correctly, there was a certain reviewer a few chapters ago, who had made some eerily, almost-accurate guesses regarding my plot.  If you're still reading this, I have to say that you haven't guessed the exact details, but my plaudits to you, anyways.  And as usual, gracias to **all** my rad reviewers.  
Calista-star: Why in the world _are_ Michael and Mia separated, eh?  Well, let's see… Michael's job forced the two to live two separate lives for at least four years.  Michael's horrid judgment at the end of those four years brought some serious doubt between the two.  Time passed with no contact between them, at least six years.  That's a really long while to keep a long-distance relationship (with absolutely no keeping-in-touch) going, don't you think?  That's the way I've always thought of it.  But the whole separation thing was just an obstacle.  Now it's my turn to see if I can bring them back together, or not.  Hmm.  
MelancholicPolarBear: You _are_ unbelievably nice and I love you for it!  I know I haven't thanked you before, but you have been one awesome consistent reader; thanks for rocking my socks off.  And yes, I agree that Michael could have made a bigger effort.  Heh.]

**[edit] Oy vey.  I just reread over this and realized that there was potentially too much cussing in here for my pitiful PG-13 rating.  So I cleared it up some.  Very sorry if I offended anyone in the first place. [/edit]**

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

I hadn't gotten much sleep the past few nights, after that initial meeting with Mia, and I was practically dozing off when my department manager came by to give me a nice smack on the back of my head. (A/N: I'd love to see this in real life.  It'd be beyond adorable.)  "Wake up, Moscovitz, meeting for all tech guys on TPC in five minutes."

I groaned.  The Parker Case, or TPC, as all the computer guys had dubbed the most recent project, had become a flopping failure, as every bit of information which we managed to find (which was definitely _not enough_) was useless.  Morrison Parker seemed to have slipped through the web of cyberspace, and the tracks he left were minimal.  It was highly discouraging.

I slumped my way to the round table in the first conference room and found the rest of my coworkers gathered around, looking equally excited.  "About time, there, Michael," some of the guys snickered, and I grabbed a seat towards the door, not bothering to counter their slurs.

Our manager thundered in, moments later, looking genuinely thrilled, unlike the rest of us.  "Don't thank me, but I've finally figured out why your results have been so unsuccessful."  His booming voice resonated throughout the cramped room, and everyone began to raise their eyebrows.  The place reeked of skepticism.

"Oh, really?" I yawned, but the manager ignored me.

"You'd be surprised.  I need all of you to write this down.  Our suspect, Morrison Parker, has cleverly hidden himself in New York for the time being. And _that_, my computer geek friends, was where we made our mistake.  His name's Morrison Parker, yes.  But that's not what he goes by these days, and you definitely won't find anything under that.  He's scraping by with some alias, and that damn fake name of his has kept him hidden for the last two years." 

A handful of jaws scraped the carpeted floor.  "You've got to be kidding me," I sputtered, realizing that the last couple days of work had been absolutely worthless.  My manager shook his head, a hint of an apologetic look on his face, and he paused to glance down at a notepad in front of him. 

"I wish I was.  But back to business, fellows.  And you too, Moscovitz.  Write this down, each and every one of you.  He goes by the name of Minge.  Conor Minge."

---------------------------------------------------__

I arrived at my apartment building in high spirits, internally rejoicing about the leads we had picked up at work that day.  Arriving at the rows of mailboxes right outside the main door, I thrust my box key into the lock, and out tumbled my mail collection for the past couple days.  Picking up the bills and letters, the junk advertisements, and my _Rolling Stone Magazine_, I climbed the steps up to the second floor, where I let myself inside my apartment.  I threw myself onto the couch, and flipped through everything, and a slightly heavy envelope fell into my lap.  Slowly, I picked it up, turning it over so that I could take a look at the return address.

_Mia Thermopolis._

I grinned and tore it open immediately.  I had been planning on giving her a call after dinner that night, just to see how life was going, and I quickly tried to remember where I had last put my cell phone as I dumped the contents of the letter out.  I froze.

A slender, silver chain came tumbling out, along with a tiny post-it note.  The handwriting seemed almost uncertain, scratched out in almost too-precise cursive, the pink paper splotched in one corner… as if it had gotten wet at one point in time.  My breathing sped up, and I squinted as my eyes scanned the tiny slip.

_"Don't bother,"_ it read.

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

I forced myself to never look back after I dropped the letter in the mailbox.

I wanted, so badly, to erase his number and address in my "cell phonebook", but I couldn't bring myself to do so.  It wouldn't be fair.  No, what was I saying?  My finger hovered over the "delete" button.  I clamped my eyes shut, barely noticing the apartment phone ringing in the background, and bit my lip in anticipation.  _'Leave it alone, Mia.  That's the last bit of Michael that's left in you, and you know that you don't want to let it go.'_   I turned my phone off instead, and threw it back into my purse as I sprawled out onto my bed. 

"I love you, Friday nights," I whispered.

"Mia!  Hey, Mia!"  I sprung up and craned my neck to look out my open bedroom door.  Renee stood at the end of the hall, spatula in hand, and gave me a sly grin.  "Conor just called."

I opened my mouth in protest.  "Renee!  What the crap?  Why didn't you hand the phone over?"

She doubled over with laughter.  "He told me not to.  Because he's coming over in an hour to pick you up for dinner.  He's taking you somewhere nice."  She pitifully stared at the spatula in her hand.  "Oh well, this gives me an excuse to add some meat to the stir fry I was trying to make, and I guess I'll just be _forced_ to invite Rob over.  He'll definitely want to drop by."

"Ow, ow, Renee!  What's happening with him?"

"My lips are sealed, girl.  You better get ready.  Chop, chop."  She disappeared back into the kitchen, and I flung open the door of my closet, only to face piles of old t-shirts and faded jeans.  _'I knew I should've done the laundry yesterday.'_  Darn it.

It took me a while to find something decent for the type of restaurants Conor tended to take me out to, but I triumphed in the end.  Quickly tying my hair into a messy bun of some sort and whipping a layer of gloss across my lips, I grabbed my purse and floated out of my room just as the doorbell rang.  I winked at Renee, who was on the phone (no doubt it was Rob), and opened the door for my boyfriend.

"Hey," I said softly, glancing up at his face.  "How're you doing?"

Conor tousled my hair slightly and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  "Things are all right.  And you?"

I let out a soft laugh.  "Things confuse me sometimes, you know?  But I think I'll find my way out in the end.  Thanks for dropping by."

He put his arm around me and guided me out into the hall and down the steps.  "Completely my pleasure, you know?  I'm starving, and I found this great new place over by 38th Street.  Shall we go, milady?"

I smiled as he leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on my nose.  Yes, this was the way things were meant to be.

---------------------------------------------------

Dinner dates with Conor always went smoothly, and this was no exception.  "Care for dessert?" he asked as our plates were quickly cleared away.  I opened up the tiny sweets menu and scanned it, but he whisked the lavish silk-covered list away from me.  "Not here, I don't like the desserts here.  Too much icing.  And ridiculous prices.  The Coffee Hut's a block away, what do you say?"

I stood up and winked.  "I'm all for it.  Relive those memories from years past, huh?"

He nodded, grinning, and after he had paid for the meal (in cash, for gosh sakes, one of his most peculiar habits), we left for the cozy café down the street, arm in arm.

Questions began flooding my mind as we strolled down the semi-bustling street.  "Conor?"

"Yeah, Mia?"

"What do you have in mind for our… future?"  I let it all out, then held my breath, unsure of what he would respond with.

"What do you mean?"

"You know.  You think we'll ever get married?"

I looked into his face and I saw him muttering something underneath his breath, his face clouding over.  "In all honesty, Mia, not to offend you or anything, but I haven't really… haven't really thought about that…"

I nodded.  "Is the whole princesss/royalty thing that's on your mind?  You don't like that, do you?  I know you don't.  I know how much your job means to you…"

He was silent.

"And the publicity?  That's on your mind, too, I bet.  I know you hate publicity, you hate showing your name or face in public, you'd much rather stay anonymous.  I'm so sorry, Conor, I'm sorry that so many strings come attached with getting to know me…"

He grabbed my shoulders and stopped walking, and silenced me with the most passionate kiss between us in the last two years.  We stood there, in the middle of the sidewalk, for what seemed like an eternity, until neither of us could breathe and he gazed into my face.  "It's not that, Mia, don't take it that way," he whispered.  "Yeah, the publicity makes me nervous and all, but I really do love you.  Things are just complicated with me right now, and I'm going to need to sort things out first.  You know?  I love you, Mia, remember that, all right?  Regardless of anything, I'm always thinking about you…" 

His voice trailed off, and I could tell something serious was on his mind, but I didn't bother to ask.

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

I was stunned.  "Don't bother?" I yelled at the top of my lungs.  "Don't bother?!"

I rummaged through my coat pockets, and pulled out my cell phone.  In a most hasty manner, I speed-dialed her cell phone first.  Nothing.  I cussed underneath my breath as I realized that she must've turned it off.  I furiously punched in the number to her apartment.__

"Hello?" It was a female that answered the phone, but most definitely not Mia.

"I need to talk to Mia," I sputtered.  Manners were of the least importance at the moment.

"Who is this?"

"This is Michael… fuck, just let me talk to Mia!"

The voice on the other end seemed startled.  "She's not home right now, can I take a message?"

"Where the _hell_ is she?"

"She's gone out for dinner with her boyfriend," the voice stated, almost matter-of-factly.

Caught completely off guard, I shook my head, and stuttered into the phone, "I'll call later, thanks."  With that, I immediately hung up, my thoughts firing into overdrive. 

"Crap," I said to no one in particular.  _Was this all a joke to you, Mia?  Don't I count for anything these days?_

Things were not going the way I had planned, and I slowly shut my eyes.  _Chill down, Moscovitz.  Breathe.  It'll all work out._  But for the time being, I needed time to cool down, time to think.  I needed caffeine.  Without a second thought, I gathered up my files for work, grabbed my coat, and headed out the door to pay a visit to The Coffee Hut. 

Because I deserved it.

---------------------------------------------------

"A mug of black coffee with one sugar cube, please."

A girl with jet-black hair and honey almond eyes took my order and rang it up.  I grabbed the cup as soon as she set it down, almost startling her, and gulped it down.  I felt the scalding liquid burn my mouth and throat, felt the tingle it sent through my body.  When I couldn't take any more, I stopped drinking, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.  (A/N: Quick author's note.  More like a warning.  Michael gets a tad bit sappy.  Please excuse him.  He's not feeling too well.  Har har.)

"Next, please," the cashier-girl timidly called out.  She looked at me.  "Excuse me, sir…"

I backed away from the counter, my cheeks burning, and slumped over to a table in the back.  I stared out the glass windows, into the sunset, laughing at my pitiful self.  "What a screwed up life this is."

It was insane how Mia distracted me so much.  _She's just a girl, Moscovitz.  Why all the fuss?_

"She's not just any girl, dammit!  She's Mia!  She's beyond amazingly special!"  I buried my head in my arms, feeling like I could write a trashy pop song that Mia would tend to listen to.  Something Felix would get a kick out of.  What the crap.  This was worse than that fateful hangover back in Hawaii.  I needed sleep.  Cold water.  More coffee. 

It was obvious.  I needed Mia.

A group of teenagers sat at a table near mine, and I heard them repressing giggles and deep-throated laughs.  "Estranged dude in a midlife crisis," one of them muttered, which sent the entire group into another fit of giggles.  I rolled my eyes and shut them out of my system.  _If only you knew._

In the back of my conscious mind, I heard the door to the café open, and almost instinctively, I whipped my head around and tiredly glanced at the bubbly couple that had stepped through the doors.  My eyes clouded over, and I cringed.  Young love in all its finest.

"So, what'll it be, princess?"  The guy was overly flattering, his deep voice a tad bit too loud, and he swept into a bow as she scanned the choices in front of her.

"I don't know, Conor, anything you can recommend for dessert?  And stop calling me that."

"The chocolate mousse cake.  Just a slice.  With a dabble of whipped cream.  You'd love it."  The girl laughed, almost musically, throwing her head back.  "Yes, sir."  They stood there, for a quiet second, and she broke the silence.  "You can order now, you know."

It was the guy's turn to laugh, and he saluted the girl that stood next to him.  "Yes, _Princess_ Mia.  Your wish is my command."

She punched his arm, playfully, and retorted, "Stop it, Mr. Conor Minge."

I felt my eyes widening, to the extent where I felt they might pop out of their sockets, and everything instantly seemed to clear up.  The room came into focus, and the burning sensation in my mouth was temporarily forgotten.  It was a crystal clear image before me: Mia Thermopolis, having the time of her life (looking quite stunning, as usual), with her boyfriend.  A boyfriend that had given her an exorbitant ring.  A boyfriend that seemed better than myself. 

A boyfriend whose name was Conor Minge. 

Conor Minge.

It was as if the clock stopped running.  _This was not possible.  Out of all things, out of all the choices in the world, _this_ was _not_ how things were supposed to go.  _I quickly turned back to the half-empty mug on my table, unable to observe their antics, unable to be in this room at this exact moment with the very knowledge and connections that my brain was making.  I scooped up my coffee, tossing it into a garbage can and slipped out into the cool evening, taking one quick glance back at the "happy couple".

I found myself heading back to work, sorely hoping that the building wasn't locked up for the night, and I gratefully slipped in through the front doors, scanned my ID into the slot by the doors to the offices, and rushed over to my computer.  I whispered a quick 'thank you' to nobody in particular and flopped into my chair.

I pounded in a simple search on the system's database for four keywords, "stock", "market", "Conor", and "Minge" and sat back as the results popped onto the screen before me.  My hand tightly gripped the mouse, and I randomly clicked on a few of the results, scanning the tidbits of information, reading more and more about his alleged crimes.  My head spun, but I gritted my teeth and charged forward.

"Stock market suspect… moneymaking fiend… here we go."  I paused, eyeing the document before me, before reading on.  "Physical description… blue eyes and brown hair, roughly 5'11"… no plastic surgery done, retains original physique…"

No plastic surgery?  I held back a scornful laugh; one of the biggest financial frauds had escaped the clutch of the authority without bothering to alter his physical looks.  It was embarrassing to my industry, but it was still something odd to think about.

The scene back at The Coffee Hut played through in my mind.  Mia, arm draped over a rather tall man, with brown hair and piercing blue eyes… the two laughing… ready to order some chocolate cake.  _"Stop it, Mr. Conor Minge,"_ her liquid voice had mocked. 

Mr. Conor Minge. 

I bit my lip, as the blatant facts came tumbling into place with no room for an alternate explanation.  _It can't be, it can't be.  This isn't right.  _Mia couldn't have possibly replaced me with the highly wanted stock market suspect of the decade.  She wouldn't have.  She'd never choose wrong over right.  Somebody as wonderful as Mia Thermopolis couldn't have been close friends with this scumbag.  I couldn't understand.  Unless…

_There was no way Minge would have told Mia about his background._

It suddenly made so much sense.  I had occasionally wondered why Mia's new relationship hadn't surfaced in the media, as ours had back in the day.  Of course it couldn't have.  He would have refused to share his juicy past, and Mia, being the respecting and trusting person she was born to be, wouldn't have pushed it farther.

It was him.  I had seen Conor Minge with my own eyes tonight, and I was now _this_ close to getting him into the office for questioning.  Victory for Michael Moscovitz.  My manager would be so darn proud, and this month's paycheck would show it.  But amidst my joy and rapture, another image popped into my head, forcing my heart to plummet into my stomach. 

_A late-night dinner date, culminating at The Coffee Hut for dessert.  Mia Thermopolis, laughing and enjoying herself with her boyfriend.  Her _boyfriend_ named Conor Minge._

---------------------------------------------------


	9. this way or that

[**A/N:** Gosh, this was a hard chapter to write. I swear I had to edit every little bit of this entire thing just to get it sound right, and I'm still not completely sure of what I think of it. Explaining my long disappearance from fanfiction. Reviews, anyone? Oh, and speaking of reviews, you guys are too awesome.  
The lyrics I refer to in this chapter belong to Michelle Branch, I _think_ they're from "Here With Me"? Not quite sure of the song's darn title, as I haven't heard it in a while, but I just sort of realized how perfectly it fits this darn story. But anyways, they're not my lyrics. Okie dokies?  
And, oh man, I just realized I never issued a disclaimer for this _story_ in the first place, so…

**Disclaimer**: Meg Cabot owns all the characters that you recognize from the books. She owns the original plot line of _The Princess Diaries_. All I own are a few characters of my own imagination, the names of the chapters, and the fairly sappy plot line. This goes for all the chapters before this point and all chapters after. Teehee.]

---------------------------------------------------

_It's been a long, long time since I looked into the mirror  
I guess that I was blind, now my reflection's getting clearer  
Now that you're gone, things will never be the same again  
There's not a minute that goes by every hour of every day  
You're such a part of me, but I just pulled away  
Well, I'm not the same girl you used to know  
I wish I said the words I never showed  
I know you had to go away  
I died just a little, and I feel that now you're the one I need  
I believe that I would cry just a little just to have you back now, here with me_

**Mia's POV**

I waltzed into the apartment after dessert at The Coffee Hut, in a fairly good mood, and rushed into my room. Tossing my purse onto the floor and kicking my shoes off, I flounced back onto my bed, and found myself in the same stance before Conor had called earlier that night. Yawning, I reached out to the nightstand next to my bed and turned on the radio, bringing down the volume so that it was merely a string of comforting background music.

"Hey, Mia." Renee peered in through my doorway and after a moment's hesitation, she perched herself on the corner of my bed. "How was tonight?"

I grinned. "Perfect, as usual. Oh, God, Renee, you've got to try the chocolate cake at The Coffee Hut sometime, I swear, it's the most amazing thing to have for dessert–"

She gently interrupted me. "Mia. I hate to change the subject, but… is there anything you're… you're not telling me? I mean, as soon as you left for dinner tonight, somebody called. Michael? Really deep, creamy voice, with a tendency to cuss when things aren't going right? He seemed really anxious to talk to you. And, I mean, he knew the number to the apartment… I'm here to listen if you're willing to spill."

I felt my cheeks turn a bright shade of deep red and my nostrils began to flare just slightly as I muttered, "No. Michael? I don't know who you're talking about."

Renee smiled at me and nodded. "Sorry. I thought I might tell you about it. He didn't leave a message. Anyways, so tell me about that cake, again?"

I shut my eyes, suddenly feeling the need to talk. "No. No, no, Renee, wait. I lied. Michael… Michael… was my first boyfriend I fell in love with. Ever. And he's the same one that left me for the… the military." I hugged my knees and pitifully looked at the comforter on my bed as my voice diminished into a little whisper. "He's back. After six long years. And, Renee, I really don't know what to do."

She sympathetically wrapped me in a hug. "It's all right, Mia. You've got Conor now. You have a good life, with everything looking so wonderful for you. Why even bother to _think_ about some guy who left you long, long ago?"

I blindly shook my head as I felt my voice choking up. "I'm so confused, Renee, I just don't know what to think anymore. I'm not completely sure about this… but I _think_ that I still love him."

---------------------------------------------------

**Michael's POV**

"All right, now this is the type of enthusiasm that I like to see around here!" I subconsciously heard a booming voice ring out from behind me, and felt a large fist thump my back. My head sprung up and I nearly jumped out of my seat, realizing that I had completely forgotten to go back home the other night.

"So, Moscovitz," my manager drawled out in a mix of half sarcasm, half pity. "Glad to see that you're taking your work seriously. Keep it up, and we'll consider a pay raise. Oh, and nice imprint on your forehead, there. Just remember, next time, not to fall asleep on top of the keyboard."

My hand immediately flew up to my forehead, and I felt the dents on my skin. _Smooth, Moscovitz. You're now a walking keyboard._ "Sorry, sir."

"Sorry?!" He let out a heavy chortle. "Sorry? For what? I like to see my tech guys on the case 24/7 - did you find anything out last night? Any sudden revelations on Minge's whereabouts?" Those words were all I needed to remember. Last night came tumbling back, every little detail playing through my mind as if I were equipped with TiVo. _Don't you dare do anything to ruin Mia's life. You know you owe her._

"Whereabouts? None… none of that, sir. Of… of course… course not. Minge seems to be an extremely sly suspect; he's left no tracks whatsoever. I was just running some extra searches, but didn't come up with anything… absolutely nothing… of course."

My manager looked crestfallen, as if expecting me to have discovered the exact latitude and longitude of Conor Minge's location overnight. _If only he knew how close I was._ "Ah, well. That's all right. Maybe today'll be the day. Oh, and Moscovitz, wipe that sleep out of your eyes before your coworkers begin to arrive." He winked and headed off towards his office.

I groaned as soon as he was out of sight, and the significance of what I had picked up yesterday quickly became more and more evident. Yesterday, it had merely been me cursing my bad luck and trying to understand the horrid coincidence. Today, I felt the nasty burden weigh upon my shoulders for the very first time. _Why me? Why leave me with the tough decisions at hand?_ It became highly obvious at that exact moment that I needed to talk to Mia. Before I did anything a whole lot stupider than I could be capable of doing.

I snatched up my cell phone, from where it had fallen onto the floor, and speed-dialed her number for the second time in less than 24 hours, silently hoping that she would actually pick up this time. _Come on, Mia, come on._

"Hello?" Her tired voice was beyond unenthusiastic, and I could practically picture her sighing dejectedly.

"Mia," I breathed into the phone. "Don't hang up on me. Please. It's Michael… Moscovitz. I need you to listen–"

"Michael, not now–"

"No, this is important, Mia. It's probably not what you think it is. I'm at work right now. I need you to come over because we _need to talk_. Mia, please."

Silence from the other end.

"I work on the first floor of the investigator's office on 38th Street. It's, like, the only modernized building on its block, you'll spot it right away. Big, gray, pretty ugly. Three blocks north of The Coffee Hut. I'll be waiting outside. You need to come _right now_."

Still silence.

"I'll be waiting, Mia." And with that, I deliberately hung up the phone, hoping with all my might that I was making the right decisions. And hoping that she would trust me, and come.

---------------------------------------------------

**Mia's POV**

I found Michael sitting on the steps to his office building, his slightly pink forehead peering out from under dark chocolate layers of hair, hands clutching a pile of papers. I couldn't meet his eyes at first, so instead, I peered up at the towering building behind him. A tall, granite-colored stretch of office, after office, after office. Somewhat menacing, and seeming to hold all sorts of secrets behind its walls. I quickly looked away, and reluctantly found myself heading over to sit next to him on the steps instead.

"Hi, Michael. How's life?" Stupid attempt to start the conversation.

An almost irritated, sarcastic look began to cross his face, but he merely took a deep breath. "Let's skip the introduction, shall we? There's other… pressing matters at hand. I just… I just don't know how this is going to sound to you, but I want you to know that I'm only telling you this because I care. Because I don't want you to get hurt. Crap, I just don't know how to say it–"

"Just say it, Michael. I need to get back to work soon. All right?"

Michael glanced at my face, and slowly shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mia, I'm so sorry."

"Michael." _Get on with the point, Michael. This is so hard for me, too. To sit here and watch the world pass both of us by._

His voice had diminished into a complete, and seemingly frightened, whisper and the papers he held out shook in his hand. "The fact is, you're going out with someone who's hiding from the law, Mia. Look. Look at these files. Conor Joseph Minge. That's him, right there, isn't he? He's made some illegal stock trades in the past few years, in an attempt to double, triple, and quadruple his savings. He's tricked people, ran off with their money. He's done all of these, these _things_, and now he's wanted in court. And you know what? That's not even his real name. Conor Minge is some makeshift name he's made up for himself. Conor Minge doesn't really exist, Mia. Don't you see how wrong all of this is–"

"Shut up!" I was stunned as his words began registering themselves in my brain. He had caught me completely off-guard, fired an accusation at me that seemed so unreal, and everything went spinning. He was not here to demand an answer to the return of his necklace; no, he _seemed_ to be here to further strain our already tense relationship. "Where the _crap_ do you get the ideas for this? You bring me out of work, claiming something serious is going on, and _this_ is what you have to say?! Is it _that_ satisfying for you to ruin the few things that I have going for me? You know, you don't have to lie about things like this!" I was nearly screaming, tears mercilessly streaming down my face, my heart pounding so loud that I could hear it ringing in my ears.

He stupidly stared back at me, eyes wide open, shaking his head slowly.

"If you want me back, this isn't the way to do it!" I felt my hands wipe away at my smeared mascara, heard my voice crack. He knew I was vulnerable like this, he knew what would make me crumble. Yesterday's girl-to-girl talk with Renee flew out the window, and I knew I couldn't have possibly meant any of it. "You disgusting jerk."

The accusation was a crushing blow to Michael, and he reared back, almost as if I had physically slapped him. "Mia. Isn't it possible that I might not be making any of this up? Think about it. I never knew the name of your… your boyfriend until yesterday. You never told me. I saw… I saw you two at The Coffee Hut last night. Both of you. I heard you talking to each other. That was the first time I ever really saw your… with him. I don't see how – I didn't – I didn't make any of this up, goddammit! I already told you that. I'm not trying to hurt you, Mia, I'm trying to prevent you from _getting_ hurt. Don't you understand?!"

"Michael! I don't believe you, I _can't_ believe you anymore! You've lied to me before, so how on earth do you expect me to trust your word now? I've been trying so hard, Michael, to make things less awkward. I really have. But this–"

"You haven't tried at all. You've let the past get to your head too much. You know it."

"You're wrong, Michael, and you never have been more wrong in your life." I was unaware of how red my cheeks were turning, or how obviously my nostrils were flaring.

He looked down at me, almost ready to laugh out in complete disbelief, but simply turned on his heel and headed back into the looming investigation building behind us. Back to work. Back to the way things were before this crisp morning. "You know I'll be here for you, if you ever feel you need _me_ again," he said out loud before walking inside. I watched his retreating figure as it slowly disappeared, leaving all sorts of countless obstacles to stand between us once more. Leaving me to ponder the many accusations he had made about Conor.

Leaving me to wonder if I had said and thought all the wrong things just minutes before.

---------------------------------------------------

_You're going out with someone who's hiding from the law._

No, that couldn't be right. It made no sense, no sense at all. Conor, hiding from the law? Sweet and innocent Conor, once a cashier at The Coffee Hut, Conor with the bluest eyes? Conor, who had stepped into my life, just as Michael had left it, for what seemed like a lifetime? Him, doing illegal things, hiding from the cops with some illegal name? And never telling me about it, hiding a secret like that for two years? No, no, no. It was just a sick form of revenge, coming from Michael, it had to be…

"Miss Thermopolis? Miss Thermopolis!"

I looked up and found one of my newer coworkers beside me, impatiently holding a piece of paper in her hand, and looking slightly irritated.

"Sorry. Yes?"

She looked down at the scrap of yellow paper. "Someone left you a message while you were out this morning, and he asked that you called as soon as you got back to the office. Here." She handed me the slip of paper and I immediately recognized Conor's number scrawled on it.

"Thank you," I muttered, my face uncontrollably turning bright pink, but she stalked off without a word.

I bit my lip, playing with the paper, unsure of whether I could face Conor in this state. The claims that Michael had made were not light (Light?! He had made Conor sound like a ruthless criminal, for gosh sakes!) and they kept nagging at the back of my mind, regardless of how hard I tried to defend Conor. It was one huge mental debate against myself, and I found myself losing, found myself at a horrid disadvantage, no matter what. Conor could never be such a bad person, I argued, but… but Michael would never waste his time to cook up some screwed-up scheme like this, I countered. Right? Right… My head spun dangerously. _Had I really made the right decision by choosing to attempt to detach myself from Michael, now that he had finally reentered my life?_

I thought back to the morning's events and saw Michael, himself, his eyes filled with complete loss and disbelief, the pain in his face visible in the morning light, watching helplessly as I called him a liar. A loud rush of air roared in my ears as the silently crisp, but deafening, image grew clearer in my mind. I shut my eyes and found myself angrily crumpling up the paper with Conor's number written on it, and surprised even myself as I tossed it into the garbage can, without giving it a second thought.

---------------------------------------------------

[**A/N:** Mia, Mia, Mia! I know, she was being somewhat stupidly stubborn in the middle of the chapter, but she's slowly redeeming herself (wink) by making her own rational decisions, right?]


End file.
